


19. Asphyxiation

by titC



Series: Whumptober 2019 [19]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: (not too bloody or gore but still) torture, Gen, Happy Ending, whumptober2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-01 21:48:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20909213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/titC/pseuds/titC
Summary: Brett has to make a choice.





	19. Asphyxiation

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Whumptober](https://whumptober2019.tumblr.com/) for organizing it and [PixelByPixel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PixelByPixel) for the beta!

Brett sometimes wonders why he’s gone into that job. He thinks, _Damn, Ma was right; I should have found something safer_.

Ha.

Well, most of the time he’s safe enough; he’s rarely in the line of fire. Someone is killed, and he’s sent to investigate and find out who did it. He comes in after the fact. Of course, murderers don’t like having a detective on their trail, but generally speaking his weapon stays in its holster. Most of the times he had to get it out, one of those vigilantes was out and about on their own crusade against whoever they thought it was their job to dispatch; Brett had only ended up involved against his better judgment.

Some of them are frankly insane, but they all have their fans in the Kitchen and even among the force. So Brett, who for some reason is the officer with the most encounters with New York’s vigilantes, keeps his thoughts quiet about them. They’re at best misguided, at worst dangerously unhinged; but _fine_, sometimes they help. However, in Brett's opinion, that is only because the NYPD is criminally understaffed.

Brett isn’t an idealistic idiot; he takes whatever good he can get. When Jessica Jones gets rid of a killer, well; it’s one less killer on the streets, right? When Castle ended the Russo guy, eh, Brett couldn’t complain too much about the results – although he had much to say about _how_ he got them. When Daredevil stops Fisk, it’s a good thing that he’s doing, you know? But the _methods_. The methods are not good. What example are these people giving, that violence is the answer? At least some of them work with the police sometimes, but still.

Brett just doesn’t like it.

Of course, now he’s ended up in some seriously Alien-spaceship-looking warehouse where Brüko, the murderer he’s looking for, is hiding, Brett could do with some backup. Backup of any kind. The officers he came in with are now in various states of unconsciousness and injury, and he refuses to think any of them are not alive. They _are_, and that's it. But now _Brett_ is the prey in an unfamiliar place, and he knows Brüko’s people are after him. It’s a question of minutes; he won’t be able to hold out on his own for very long unless the last call he tried to place before he lost his comm got through. He didn’t have time to say anything though, so he doubts they’re coming; but one can hope. Can’t hurt, right?

Brett flattens himself against the wall, tries not to think about what little ammo he has left, and absolutely doesn’t wish a guy like Castle was around. There’s a door leading outside not too far from where Brett is hiding; it’s a run through a wide open area, but… he could be lucky, right?

He is not.

Brett wakes up tied to a sturdy chair that’s been bolted to the floor, and that’s ominous as fuck. The harsh neon light is right above and it takes him a while to get used to it, especially since his head is pounding where someone clocked him. He remembers running, someone tackling him from behind, and his head bouncing between a fist and the floor; he’s pretty sure he's got a concussion. It looks like they want him alive for now, so he’s got that going for him. It’s a start, right? He’ll take it.

But now Brüko is standing over him with two armed guys a bit further behind, and he really doesn’t look happy. He’s going to want something Brett can’t, _won’t_ give. He’s not a snitch, and he’s not going to take money to help people like that. Brett has a thought for his Ma, and he braces for pain.

They want to know what he knows, what his superiors know, who can be bribed and who can’t. They want to know what he’s got written down about Brüko in his files and what he’s only said to his fellow officers, what he’s got evidence for and what he hasn’t. They’re not very imaginative: a few punches, two broken fingers, and a lot of threats. If only someone would come now, before they get to worse stuff; Brett’s head is swimming and his hand’s pulsating and he’s puked on himself from the pain and nausea, but he’s good, he’s all right, he's… well, not _quite_ all right, but he’s alive. But the way Brüko’s scowling at him, he’s not going to be alive for long.

_I’m sorry, Ma. You were right._

Brett closes his eyes right as a goon slides a ropey, tough-skinned forearm against his neck and starts to slowly, oh-so-slowly choke him. They want it to last; they want to savor every quick breath they let him take before some more squeezing. He’s not controlling much now, not his body jerking against the restraints and not the tears running down his face and not the blood pounding in his ears. This is it. He knows this is _it_.

But then everything stops.

He opens his eyes to darkness, and shouts, and gunfire outside the room he’s in. Mostly, he enjoys the feeling of unrestricted breathing; he’ll never look at strangulation victims the same way ever again. And wow, he’s now looking forward to looking at corpses because it means he’ll be alive to do so, and that’s fucked up. If he ever has kids, he’ll tell them: _Don’t be a cop. Don’t make the same mistakes as your Dad_.

After a few minutes, the yelling and gunfire die down and Brett can breathe more or less normally as long as he’s careful and not trying to gulp in too much air, too quickly. The light isn’t turned back on though, and Brett’s suspicions are confirmed when a too-gravelly voice says, “Hello, Detective.”

“Dare…” Brett can’t finish the word, he’s coughing and spitting. Ugh, this isn't helping with the headache either.

“You probably shouldn't speak,” Daredevil says.

No shit. Brett nods, because that guy can apparently see in the dark or something.

“I’m going to untie you first, all right?”

Fine.

Once Daredevil has helped him sit on the floor away from where Brett’s thrown up, he tries to speak again. It’s a horrible croak that ends in more coughing. Shit.

“You need a hospital, you and your fellow officers. They’re all alive, for now.” Daredevil slaps a piece of plastic in Brett’s hand. “Lifted a phone from one of the guys I knocked out; can you dial for me? I’ll speak.”

Dial? Can’t he dial himself? The screen will light up and it’ll be easy enough to see the numbers, hit 911. Brett can’t talk but he can move now, so he shoves the phone back against the guy’s chest.

Daredevil doesn’t take it. “I can’t do it.”

What the fuck, man.

“I…” Daredevil sighs. “I can’t see the screen.”

What? “Turn. it. on,” Brett manages to whisper very, very carefully.

“Brett, _please_,” and this is a normal voice. A voice he knows.

He pushes a button on the phone and in the dim light, he can see the mask has been pushed up. Daredevil is, apparently, Matt fucking Murdock, who _can’t_ use a phone but _will_ plow through armed men with some rope and, on good days, wooden batons.

“Fuck me,” Brett manages. He pushes the button again when the light turns off so he can look around: the room is empty. He dials 911 and holds the phone out. 

This nightmare is over now, at last.

Brett isn’t supposed to hit the bars while he's recovering, but he doesn’t care. He calls Foggy and demands they meet at that shady hole where the glasses’ cleanliness might be questionable but also where people won’t listen in to what you say.

“How long have you known?” he asks as soon as they’re squeezed around a small table. Josie’s is packed tonight, and that means even more privacy. Perfect.

“Jeez, you’re going straight to the jugular tonight.” Brett frowns. “Wrong word choice?”

“Yes.” His voice is still hoarse, and the splints on his broken fingers won’t let him forget what he went through for a good long while.

“Aw, I’m sorry.” Foggy takes a pull from his bottle to buy some time. “And, a while. I’ve known for a while.”

“You're _lawyers_.”

“Yep.”

“It can’t end well, Foggy.”

“Look, it’s… I can’t stop him. He can’t stop _himself_. He’s tried, believe it or not; but it’s part of him. I have to take it or leave it, you know? And I didn’t take it well at all at first, but…” He sighs. “I’ve come to understand a bit better why he does it.”

“But…” It just doesn't make sense: the risk to their practice, their jobs, the risk to Matt’s own life…

“Yeah, I know. Trust me; everything you’re thinking, I've thought before. I’ve been there. Still am, sometimes.”

Brett turns his bottle in his hands before a careful swallow of some cold, cold beer. “Asshole saved my life. He’s fucking blind, Foggy. He _is_, right?” He can’t have faked the phone thing, surely? He had to reveal who he was just so Brett would believe him and dial, but…

“He is.”

“Damn.” It wasn’t even the first time one of those vigilantes saved Brett’s life, too. “I should arrest him, Foggy. I should…”

“You can’t.” For once, Foggy drops the smile and looks like he does in court, defending a client in whose innocence he believes. “Brett, you _can’t_.”

How does he makes it all work in his head? But he doubts Foggy has an answer. “I hate this.”

“Yeah.”

“You know what? When Castle pulled me out of that ambulance before it caught fire, I could have shot him. Had my gun aimed at him; he was standing there waiting… I _had him_, you know? But I didn’t shoot. I let him go.”

“Do you regret it?”

“What was I supposed to do?” Brett sighs. Castle had just saved his life, like Daredevil did just a few days ago. “I think… no, I don’t regret it.”

Foggy grins. “And Bess likes Matt too much anyway; she'd never forgive you.”

Brett smiles too, a bit ruefully but Foggy’s right. Maybe he _should_ stop Daredevil, but he can’t and he won’t. They live in shades of gray and even if it would be easier, simpler, to just follow the rules, life itself isn’t easy or simple. As Castle would say, _You do what you gotta do_. Matt does more good out of prison than many folks, and that’s why Brett joined the force: to do good.

The Devil won’t go to jail.


End file.
